As they skirted through the abandoned streets, Richard was attempting to quell his pleasure in their delay. He wanted to keep them around for a while. He was sad that Sally was gone. He thought it was wrong of Sam just to take her like that. And he could plainly see the effect of it on Mark. Right now, though, all he could do was give them a decent time while they were here and hope that, perhaps, it wasn’t only for Tony’s sake that Mark was sticking around.
For half an hour they rode through slumbering homes on the outskirts of town, the greenery muffled by snow and losing it in showers as the bus brushed past. Outside it was a winter wonderland spoiled by the smell of fuel and vomit onboard. They were on their way to Salt’s Mill, a converted building that was, in these conditions, a foolhardy distance away. But Iris had mentioned wanting to see the Hockney exhibition there.
Richard was a great one for salvaging situations. He would do it for this one, too. He would give them a day to remember. Richard had accepted his mostly contingent role in other people’s lives. When these people looked back on this whole event, then at least they wouldn’t remember only the bleak bits.
They were sitting upstairs in the diner, at a stainless-steel table. Richard was playing with the cocktail sugar, waiting for Mark to come back from the toilets.
The windows were tall and arched, giving a muted view of Bradford. From up here it all looked clean and swept; the colours that showed were brighter because of the snow. Outside it looked as pristine as it was indoors. There was a gleam similar to the laser-copied ‘local snaps’ pinned to the walls. Colours here were unnaturally bright. The two ladies were looking about with interest, occasionally dipping into narrow-stemmed blue glasses of ice cream.
“Sally would have loved the ice cream.”
“For God’s sake, Iris, don’t say that when Mark gets back.”
“Hockney’s drawn the menu. Shove one in your bag.”
“He’s taking his time,” Peggy commented.
“He’s upset. He probably needs a moment to let it all out.”
“Don’t be melodramatic, Iris. They’ve only gone back home.”
“To his home—that copper’s. Sam’s put things in motion now. She’s taking Sally away from him for good. For Mark, this is the beginning of the end. That’s what he’s upset about.”
Iris’s voice had turned hard with a kind of recrimination. Picking up on this, Peggy said, “I know all that. I said to her, didn’t I, that she was being too rash.”
A silence dropped between them and Richard was embarrassed. He was already implicated in their lives, and wanted to be, but he was still surprised at the ease with which they allowed him to overhear their difficulties. His family had kept themselves to themselves, hissing politely at each other in private, as in public. This kind of carry-on was common, he knew, but it was also the kind of carry-on he had left home to be part of. He wanted to be in a family that yelled at each other in public when the mood took them. Despite his inbred embarrassment, he admired the frank skill of this lot’s interactions. It seemed so much less fraught with misunderstanding than what he was used to.
Sam, especially, had intrigued Richard, even though she had smacked him one. He could see that there was something about her. He still couldn’t see why Mark had thrown everything in to be with her—as far as he was concerned, Mark was a Class One 100 per cent fruit—but he still found her impressive for lashing out and protecting her family. Mark listened to Sam; his whole life was dependant upon her decisions. Richard could never hope to exert such an influence, and he reluctantly bowed before anyone who could.
He discovered that he was watching the group at the next table intently. Four stiff-looking men in suits were sitting awkwardly in their chairs, picking over ridiculously large sandwiches. In their midst sat a very professional-looking woman in a similarly smart suit with a short skirt. Her hair was piled up high on her head and she twiddled little bits of watercress under her nose as she laughed, a light trilling note, at her companions’ gruff jokes.
Iris and Peggy were watching too. “Poor cow,” Peggy muttered. ”Fancy having to put up with those old farts. Look at her skirt, too.”
“She’s got to be sexier and more brilliant than that lot,” Iris said and sighed. “You can see what’s going on. So this is what they call post-feminism?”
“Don’t, dear,” Peggy said. “You’ll only depress me.” She crammed her mouth with chocolate ice cream, stinging her more sensitive teeth. “I Think it was working like that, in a man’s world, that made our Sam hard.”
Iris stared. “How can you say that?”
“Well, it’s bound to, isn’t it? You have to harden up to operate in the wider world.”
“She works in a frock shop!”
“It’s still a man’s world. Business.”
Iris shook her head. “It’s neither a man’s nor a woman’s. It’s what you call patriarchal. That’s what your Sam’s been steeped in.”
Peggy looked obscurely offended. She wasn’t quite sure what Iris was saying about her daughter.
“I know,” Iris added, “about gender. It’s been my business to know, remember.”
Richard perked up, surprising them. “Is that because you’re gay?”
“We never used that word in my day,” she said sniffily. “The girls wore bunches of violets on their lapels. And anyway, my being gay is not really the point. I know about gender because I’ve been a woman and a man, in the course of a terribly long life.”
“Oh!” said Richard.
“I’ve done a hell of a lot of field work.”
“Don’t let her bore you,” Peggy said. “Go and see if Mark’s out
